Truth, Knowledge, and Wonder
by Mr. Pooch
Summary: Based off the 1996 version of Romeo and Juliet. You know your heart is breaking, but you can't do anything about it: love does not change for the unloved.


Title: Truth

Author: Mr. Pooch

Rating: PG- some mentions of partying and some others on violence.

World: Baz Luhermann's _Romeo and Juliet_

Characters: Mercurtio, Juliet, Romeo

Notes: This is placed here because I only thought about this during the movie. In Shakespeare's original play, there was no chance that the two had feelings; the movie was a different story. Please tell me if you like it! And, if not, tell me what to change!

Summary: You can feel your heart breaking, but you know you can't do anything about it: love does not change for the unloved.

She was someone to protect, someone to live for and to die for, if possible. She was one of the special ones, someone whose smile could light up a room, and whose tears could re-create Noah's flood. They say women have five hundred emotions while men have five, but you can't help but feel like the roles had been reversed. No one had told you, but suddenly, you became the one who wanted to protect and nurture, to take to the altar and hold hands with to the grave; you wanted to be there to catch every tear in the drained swimming pool winter, and to keep it from overflowing in the summer. You wanted to catch every smile that hung the summer sun and let the winter fade into spring.

Such a thing was impossible. For so many reasons, not one of them making sense from where you are now, which is where you've always been:

You're in the center of the room, the center of all the attention, from everyone but her. You're dressed up to the nines, playing all the silly games, and you've tackled your battle with embarrassment (with the help of the expensive liquor that could always be found at gatherings like these) – all for her. She's the one that's worth all this trouble. The trouble of catching her eye, which- since they were children- has always been a step ahead of you. It's hard to catch something you've only heard about in storybooks. Fairies only exist in the playgrounds of children, angels seem to come and go, love seems illusionary- the Queen Mab of your heart. Why try to catch what you've never known to be true.

Besides, it seems like someone else has caught the fairy, shown you the wings and told you it's real, it's not a bird, not a doll: it's a fairy, with red hair that catches the falling lights of the fireworks; an angel, with wings that carry you out of Verona, through the desert, to a jungle-garden of something that might be called Heaven; she's the one that you've dreamed of, but she dreams of someone else. Someone else is where you thought you should be. And she says his name like you say hers', soft and prayer-like.

"Romeo", she says, when you press her, "Romeo Montague."

And his name hits your heart like a stone, or like a bullet, or like a knife, or like an arrow. Whatever it hits, it sticks and gets its mark. You stand there staring at this girl, her cheeks are flushing and her eyes are glittering-she knows that you're his friend, and that you're her friend. She knows that, no matter how hurt you are, you'll help. You'll help this girl out of love, but even after that, because it's what you've always done. After all, the boy is the best man in Verona, and you know that. No one could rival his innocence, his kind temperament, or his laughter. You know that Juliet is in love with all these things- none of which you posses in enough quantity to challenge him.

So you invite Romeo Montague to the Capulet party in the Hills of Verona. You are here now, a little drunk, leaning on Benvolio, who is laughing at you as you stumble and stutter and slur. He is a little drunk himself, so you two make a fine mess of a pair, although no one at the party is in any better shape.

Except her. And him. In your mind, you realize that those two are the only two not stumbling, who need no hand to hold them up. You see her with her wings, in her white gown with her red hair loose, and your heart rises up in your chest. They call this feeling lust. They call this feeling love. You can't decide which name is right. But the look on Romeo's face-this you know is love. And the look on her face-that face you love to look at, the face that makes each day a joy to welcome-her look is the same.

And you know, in that moment, what will happen. You hear the gunshot, see the look on Tybalt's face as you fall to the ground. You see Romeo's face as Tybalt falls. You see red. And you see white. You see Juliet's face in an expression you never wanted it to hold-pain. The pain she describes as she hears she will marry Paris. You see her pain as Romeo is banished. The false death, and the poison in a glass that makes it look like perfume on her desk. You see Romeo's despair as he falls. Her death.

You see this all, but you blame it on the liquor. You blame it on the lights. You blame it on the drugs. Never once do you consider that it might be the truth. You blame it on your heart, the one that breaks as you see them kiss. Never once do you consider that it might be the truth.

The truth is these tears that you cry, this woman you find a day later and begin to see casually. The truth is that you're hiding from the two lovers; too afraid that you won't be able to control your tongue, that your secret will fall out from between your lips.

The truth is that you remember Juliet kissed you once. And you remember thinking, at the end of it all (for those things you imagined at the party will come to be truth), that it was the moment that began and ended your life.

And you know- looking back, that you would not have changed this life you lose for anything. For a life without love, as the cliché says and you know, is not truly worth living-or losing. She is not there as you fall, but it is her name on your lips, her face you see. Love has kept you alive, and love takes the pain away from dying and gives you honor. And honor, and love, and peace-this is all you've ever wanted, and this is what will come to pass.

You kissed her once, and, as you fall, you can't help but wonder if that's what started it all.


End file.
